


Reflection

by puppydeanandjen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, My R - Freeform, Pre-Season/Series 01, Suicide Attempt, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 00:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14842349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puppydeanandjen/pseuds/puppydeanandjen
Summary: "Hey, don't do it please"





	Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the song, [My R](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tZ4cM0hYofc)

Footsteps resound against the metallic steps of the staircase, handrail rusty from age and the area he walks upon is sealed within layers of cement that cast shadows over him. It’s stuffy and grim causes doubts to cross his mind, but he doesn’t look back because if he does, he’ll surely leave. The door swings open to the twist of a door handle; a loud creak scares the plethora of birds that lay on this rooftop.

 

Dean steps out into the open, a gentle breeze passing by as quickly as it came, leaving him alone to his agenda. A note written of all his regrets and misdeeds and goodbyes is stuffed into his jean pocket, folded neatly into a rectangle.

 

Then he sees him.

 

Standing to the side, a man no older than a college student, extremely rugged for his age, dressed in a leather jacket, standing on the rim of the ledge with his arms intertwined in the bars that separate the two of them and the heels of his feet keeping him afloat. From falling into the abyss that lies beneath.

 

“Hey, don’t do it!” Dean shouts without realizing the words that had just rolled off his tongue. He’s not particularly sure why he called out to him; it didn’t matter to him what another person would do. Instead, he’s agitated that someone got here before he could.

 

The man’s head twists back at him with a desolate, mournful smile.

 

“Would you hear me out?”

 

Dean nods silently as the man turns away again as if he can’t bear to stare at him. He doesn’t inch closer; this fear awakening in the pits of his stomach. So he remains still, unusually calm now with a hint of bitterness still leftover.

 

“You see, the person I’ve adored all my life, loved and raised with my own bare hands, left me in the dust to pursue his future.” He continues voice, sickly sorrowful like _everything_ in his life had been whisked away and it causes the anger inside of Dean to enlighten.

 

Clenching his fist and grinding his teeth, Dean glares upward as distasteful memories invade his vision in a haze.

 

“That’s it?!” He shouts as the man whips head back to him, perturbed. “You’re just upset that you can’t have what you want. At least...at least, you haven’t had anything stolen from you.”

 

There are images flashing in his mind. Images of a lanky, tall boy with dashing hazel eyes- someone he’s known since the day he had carried him out of the burning wreckage- in the embrace of a blonde woman, beautiful and flawless and _not Dean_ . Images of them kissing in the dark on the kitchen counter in their student apartment as Dean stares helplessly through the windows. Images of them saying the same ‘I love you's' that two _boys_ would say to each other, not so long ago, in hushed whispers under bed sheets.

 

Realization widens in the man's eyes and then he smiles, content and joyful, once more before responding with the words “Thank you”.

 

Then he vanishes into the pale blue sky.

 

\---

 

Dean climbs the steps to the rooftop the next day, ready with the note in his pocket.

 

But there’s a young boy, petite and baby skinned, yet maturity is still held in his expression, sitting on the ledge with dainty fingers wrapped around the bars.

 

He calls out again with no reasons attached, something in his gut or implemented in his brain to say those exact words at anybody who tetters that ledge. Maybe, it’s this sense of heroism that’s been instilled into his mainframe of who Dean Winchester is. But that’s all his father’s framework.

 

Even so, he shouldn’t get involved, really shouldn’t, but he can’t seem to stop himself.

 

“I didn’t want to grow up,” the boy explains, voice, high pitched and soft, with tears welling in the corners of his eyes, while Dean leans forward against the railing. “I wanted to be a kid for just a little longer.”

 

Anger twitches within his heart again, gripping onto the metal as they tighten slowly.

 

“That’s it?!” he exclaims, the boy’s eyes flick towards him in surprise, flinching slightly. “At least, you still have a family that cares for you! You have someone that still cares about you.”

 

Another set of memories engrave themselves into the front- ones that he kept in the back of his mind- a father praising the youngest for all successes and blaming him for all the mistakes. No matter what Dean would do, his dad wouldn’t care because he’s only there as a shield. He could never do right in those eyes.

 

The tears have released finally themselves from where they were held in the boy’s eyes, streaming down pale skin, and his hand travels to wipe them away like an act of sheer bravery.

 

“Thank you for listening.”

 

Then he vanishes into the pale blue sky.

 

\---

 

Day after day, there would be somebody new that Dean would have to convince to not take the leap of death.

 

But nobody would do the same for him. So he keeps on traveling up those fated steps to find the right day, the right time, for him to walk off that ledge that would unlock this cage.

 

Release him from the never-ending suffering of his life.

 

\---

 

Then he sees him.

 

A man that shares the same pain that he holds in the trunk of his chest.

 

Dean observes all the battered and bruised pale skin of the man that blossoms in hues of violet and blue which emphasize the color of wild, forest green eyes that contain the true essence of despair. There’s knowledge in those eyes from repeating this event many times over.

 

“I don’t want there to be any more wounds, every time I step into my own home,” the fragile man explains, quiet and afraid as if a louder tone would invoke a harsher punishment. Noise that would cause more strikes from hands and feet and beer bottles and anything else in the room.

 

Layers of gauze are wrapped around his wrist, peeking out from under flannel confines.

 

And, at that moment, Dean just screams a complete lie.

 

“Hey, don’t do it please!”

 

There’s nothing he could do to stop this person from falling to his death because it’s the exact reason why he’s standing here: on this rooftop. But he’s pleading with this man to save himself, just so that he doesn’t have to stare at the pitiful expression for any longer. An expression that reminds Dean of what he stares at when he looks in a mirror.

 

“Please, just leave” he begs, dropping to the ground, groveling as the tears drip down from his eyes. There isn’t any emotion in those forest green eyes that gaze at him. No empathy or curiosity or anything. Just gazing.

 

The green-eyed man sighs.

 

“I guess today just isn’t my day.”

 

Then he vanishes into the pale blue sky.

 

\---

 

There’s nobody on the rooftop today.

 

Not a single soul, but himself.

 

_It’s time._

 

Dean slowly approaches the ledge. He removes his leather jacket and hangs it onto the railing. Climbing over the bars, he settles himself on the familiar ledge, the heels of his feet collide with the metal.

 

Forest green eyes glimmer in the sunlight that rains upon him like the angels were allowing him entrance into the world above- something he knows that will never happen because that heaven doesn’t exist.

 

The short boy that has grown up to be a horrid young man can now turn the key and soar to freedom.  


End file.
